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1987

CHAPTER 1

Acid wash Guess with the leather patches, sportin the white Diadoras with the hoodie that matches. I’m wearing two Swatches and a small Gucci pouch. I could have worn the Louis but I left it in the house.

My NGHs Duce and Wayne got gold plates with their name, with the skyline on it and the box link chain. I’m wearing my frames they match my gear with their tint. And you know Lagerfield is the scent.

My NGH Rafael just got his jeep out the shop. Mint green sidekick. Custom made ragtop. Strictly Business is the album that we play. “You’re a Customer,” the pick of the day.

CHAPTER 2

There’s a NGH on the block. Never seen him before. Selling incense and oils. My man thinks that he’s the law. But why on earth would this be on their agenda as he slowly approaches the window.

Uh, uh, I’ve seen you before. I’ve been you and more. I was the one bearing the pitcher of water. I rent the large upper room furnished with tidings of your doom or pleasure, whichever feathers decree.

Yo, Ralph, is he talking to me? No I’m talking to the sea sons resurrected. I’m the solstice of the day. I bring news from the blues of the Caspian”

My man laughs. He’s one of them crazy MTHRFKRs. Turn the music back up. ‘Cause I’m the E double.’ “Wait, but but, I know the volume of the sea and sound waves as I will. Will you allow me to be at your service?”

My man Ralph is nervous. He believes his strange tongue deceives and maybe he’s been informed that he’s pushing gats, Hidden in the back beneath the floor mats. “Come on Jack, we don’t have time for your bullshit or playin, As Salaam A somethin or another.” “Wait isn’t Juanita your mother? I told you I know you. Now grant me a moment.

CHAPTER 3

At the gates of Atlantis we stand. Ours is the blood that flowed from the palms of his. Hands on the plow, till earth ‘til I’m now. Moon cycles revisited. Womb fruit of the sun. Full moon of occasion wave the wolves where they run. And we run towards the light. Casting love on the wind. As is the science of the aroma of sleeping women.”

Lost in his eyes. They soon reflect my friends are grinning. But I’m a pupil of his sight. The wheels are spinning. “Yo, I’ll see y’all later tonight.”

CHAPTER 4

In the beginning her tears where the long awaited rains of a parched Somali village. Red dusted children danced shadows in the newfound mounds of mascara that eclipsed her face, reflected in the smogged glass of Carlos’ East Street bodega.

Learning to love she had forgotten to cry, seldom hearing the distant thunder in her lovers ambivalent sighs. He was not honest. She was not sure. A great grandfather had Sacrificed the families clarity for gold in the late 1800’s. Nonetheless, she had allowed him to mispronounce her name, which had eventually led to her misinterpreting her own dreams and later doubting them. But the night was young.

She, the first-born daughter of water, faced darkness and smiled. Took mystery as her lover and raised light as her child. Man that shit was wild. You should have seen how they ran. She woke up in an alley with a gun in her hand. Tupac in lotus form, Ennis’ blood on his hands.

She woke up on a vessel, the land behind her, the sun within her, water beneath her, mushed corn for dinner. Or was it breakfast? Her stomach turned, as if a compass. She prayed east and lay there breathless. They threw her overboard for dead. She swam silently and fled into the blue Si.

CHAPTER 5

La So Fa Me Re Do Si. The seventh octave. I don’t mean to confuse you. Many of us have been taught to sing and so we practice scales. Many of us were born singing and thus were born with scales.

Myrrh-maids cooks and field hands sang a night song by the forest and the ocean was the chorus in Atlantis, where they sang. Those thrown overboard had overheard the mysteries of the undertow and understood that down below there would be no more chains.

They surrendered breath and name and survived countless as rain. I’m the weather, man. The clouds say storm is coming. A white buffalo was born already running. And if you listen close you’ll hear a humming.

Dressed in westerlies. Robed by Robeson. Ol’ Man River knows my name. And the reason you were born is the reason that I came.

CHAPTER 7

Then she looks me in the face and her eyes get weak. Pulse rate descends. Hearts rate increase. Emcees look me in the face and their eye’s get weak. Pulse rate descends. Hearts rate increase.

Emcees look me in the face and their eyes get Weak. Pulse rate descends. Hearts rate increase. It’s like ‘Beam me up, Scottie’. I control your body. I’m as deadly as AIDs when it’s time to rock a party.

We all rocked fades. Fresh faded in La Di Da Di. And when we rock the mic we rock the mic right. But left’s the feminine side. Ignored the feminine side.

I presented my feminine side with flowers. She cut the stems and placed them gently down my throat. And these tu lips might soon eclipse your brightest hopes.

Saul Williams

Saul Williams was born on February 29, 1972 in Newburgh, New York. After graduating from Morehouse College with a B. A. in acting and philosophy, he moved to New York City to earn a Master's Degree at New York University in acting. There, Williams found himself at the center of the New York cafe poetry scene.

As a writer, Williams has been published in The New York Times, Esquire, Bomb Magazine and African Voices, as well as having released four collections of poetry. As a poet and musician, Williams has toured and lectured across the world, appearing at many universities and colleges. Williams has also worked as an actor and screenplay writer. He served as both on the critically acclaimed film Slame.